A half- cooked night

Everything seems so inter-changeable.
The stick watchman is a famous cubist
A policeman is drinking water into cheeks.
The moon is smelling like the black night
And a rose fails better in fetal petal-sleep.

A yoga man is staking claim to clean air.
The green bench is clear of gurgle sounds
From men in throats of water going down .
On a half-cooked night everything seems
So inter-changeable, so much plausible.

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